The Collective Protocol (5 page)

SEVEN

Reagan sat at her computer and watched the club footage over and over in an effort to figure out what she’d missed that caused the crowd to become violent so quickly. There wasn’t a clearly-defined shift in the music; it just maintained a steady beat and that one little incident when she bumped into the musclebound jerk seemed to spark the disaster. She even ran the audio through an analyzer with no results. Maybe it wasn’t the music after all.

It had been three weeks since the incident at the Razor’s Edge and about a week and a half since the police had last questioned her. Erin Weston, her dad’s lawyer, had successfully campaigned for the department to leave her alone unless they were going to charge her with a crime. They’d even released her concert footage back to her, but she was forbidden to post anything beyond the twenty-four minute mark when she began moving into the crowd.

The footage went viral almost immediately and Reagan’s webpage viewership skyrocketed. She could no longer keep up with reading all the comments on her various videos, let alone find the time to respond to them. It was nice to know that her name was out there, but she wanted to be known for her journalism, not for being the last person to see several hundred partiers alive.

She planned to go to another club this weekend to get more footage for an article that she’d write for both the university blog and her webpage. Her sudden internet stardom was too good of an opportunity to waste by sitting back and not getting any new material.

Pounding feet in the hallway announced the imminent arrival of her kid sister Ansley. Even though she had grown into her teenage years, she still maintained the enthusiasm of a child. The sisters were almost seven years apart, but they were very close. Reagan had been the perfect age to play the “little mommy” when Ansley was born, so she practically raised the girl until she was six when the older Lockhart sister discovered boys and indie music. They maintained their friendship throughout those difficult early teenage years and had come out on the other side. Reagan wondered how their relationship would fare now that Ansley was entering that same stage in her life.

Her sister burst through her door and yelled, “Turn on the TV!”

“Oh-kay… What’s going on?” Reagan asked cautiously.

“You know how the police tried to blame you for all those animal attacks? Well they’re getting worse and the news is doing a special on it right now. I DVR’d it, so just hit ‘play’ and we can watch it together,” her sister said and flopped down on the bed.

“Okay, hold on a minute. Let me save this and then we can watch.” She saved the progress on her latest blog post and then copied the text before exiting to ensure that the save took, she’d been burned before by thinking something was saved and it wasn’t. After refreshing the screen and seeing that her thoughts were all there in a draft post, she exited and closed her laptop’s lid.

“So, what are you so excited about?” Reagan asked. “It’s been going on for two weeks, I get it. If you live in the south and see a strange animal, call the cops.”

“It’s getting worse. Just watch,” Ansley replied and pushed the play button on the DVR remote. A commercial about toothpaste filled the blogger’s television.

“Dang it, hold on.” The girl pressed the fast forward button until the end of the commercial segment. “Okay, here we go.”

A short-haired anchorwoman wearing a vintage blue dress and a hideous broach stared off screen and then turned towards the camera in a rehearsed move. “Good evening, I’m Tara Blaisdell and this is the six o’clock news. Our top story tonight is a nationwide outbreak of animal attacks. For the past two weeks we’ve seen the attacks spread from the initial reports in Alabama and Georgia to almost every southern state in America.”

The screen went fuzzy and Ansley laughed at the paused screen. “God, what a horrible outfit! You wouldn’t be caught dead in that would you, Reagan?”

“No way. I can’t believe they let her on the air wearing that. Can you unpause it now?”

“Okay. I just thought she looked like an old lady,” Ansley replied.

“Yeah, it’s a very poor outfit choice.”
Then again, I have purple hair and prefer tank tops with jeans, so maybe I’m not the person to ask about fashion
.

Her sister pressed play and the news anchor continued, “So far there have been reports of violent animal attacks in every state south of Iowa. Experts are baffled as to what natural phenomena are causing the animals to act this way and why the attacks aren’t occurring further north. Many experts hypothesize that the colder temperatures in the northern states are keeping the animals there from contracting the sickness.

“For now, those same experts are stumped as to what the cause of the outbreak is. Testing for all known diseases that could potentially cause this type of behavior in animals has been negative. Doctors have compared DNA samples of deceased animals with the DNA of the victims of last month’s mass hysteria event in Washington. There are no genetic indicators to suggest that they’re related.

“The sheer number of attacks is stunning. Conservative estimates believe that more than two-hundred
thousand
animal attacks have occurred. There is a confirmed death toll of forty-five thousand Americans from these attacks. Hospitals and emergency responders are overwhelmed as they try to assist the injured. There have been reports of roving groups of armed men killing every animal they see and many Americans support the grassroots effort to eradicate the threat.”

The scene cut to a reporter standing in front of a stand of forest and the tagline along the bottom of the screen stated that he was in Sylacauga, Alabama. “I’m standing in front of the Talladega National Forest, where sixteen days ago the first known attack occurred. A local hunter named Seth Beauchamp was killed in the first days of the state’s new expanded deer season. The deer population has exploded in this southern state and state legislators have expanded the season all the way to the beginning of October, almost forty-five days earlier than in previous years.

“The death toll in central Alabama has been so high that the governor has activated the state’s National Guard units and authorized local sheriffs to organize wildlife disposal parties. When asked about the armed men in her neighborhood, one resident of Sylacauga had this to say—”

A woman’s figure filled the screen as the station played a prerecorded segment. She stood on a gravel road with a mobile home park spread out behind her near the tree line. “I think it’s a good thing,” she said. “Them animals is goin’ crazy and we already had more than fifty attacks here in Sylacauga. Can you believe that? Fifty! The sheriff is doin’ the right thing. We need to get them before they get us.”

An off-camera reported asked, “What about pets? Do you support the killing of family animals?”

“Well, if they’d killed somebody, then sure,” she answered. “I don’t know if the problem is pets though. I think it’s those damn deer and hogs. They’s the dangerous ones.”

The television cut back to the male reporter who said, “Miss Daughtry is right, Tara. So far, there have been few instances domesticated animals attacking their owners. Whatever is happening to our nation’s wild animals is threatening to tear this country apart. Back to you.”

The poorly-dressed anchorwoman reappeared. “Thanks, Tom,” she said. “As you can see, residents in the areas hit the hardest by this epidemic support the extermination of wild animals on sight, whether they show signs of the sickness or not. Let’s turn to—”

Reagan pressed the stop button. “I’m sorry, kiddo. I just can’t take any more bad news,” she told her sister.

“Yeah, I get it. I thought you might wanna hear the part about the hysteria at the club.”

“Thanks for looking out for me. I’m really glad that I have you. You know that?”

“Ugh! Don’t get all mushy on me,
Amethyst
.”

“Come here, give me a kiss!” Reagan said while she made a fish face. Ansley squealed and ran from the room.

EIGHT

“You don’t look well, Mademoiselle Watkins,” Agent Leclerc stated.

“Yeah, well you try controlling ten million animals all at once,” Paige retorted into the camera which broadcast her image across the ultra-secure Canadian video teleconferencing network.

It was true. Paige Watkins had huge dark circles under both of her bloodshot eyes and her lip quivered every few seconds. Her skin was ashen, dry and cracked. She struggled to conceal her appearance, but her powers were stretched about as far as they could go. “Once Phase Two is complete, I just need a couple days of rest and then I’ll be good to go for Phase Three.”

“Are you sure, Paige? You’re not in this alone, let us know when you need a break,” Gavin Dartmouth stated as he placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. She winced and ducked away from his grasp.

“I’m fine, Commissioner. Just a couple of days.”

The Mountie was the only one on site with Paige. The other members of the Collective Protocol’s inner circle were attending the meeting by VTC. He nodded his head in approval and looked into the camera, “There you have it gentlemen, Miss Watkins will be ready for Phase Three in a couple of days. Brigadier Patel, what does the prime minister say regarding the cessation of Phase Two?”

“He is pleased—no, scratch that,” the Canadian Forces officer replied. “He is ecstatic about the turmoil that Phase Two has caused for the Americans and fascinated that over a hundred thousand people have died, simply due to animal attacks. Their hospitals are overflowing with patients and they haven’t even begun to experience the true power of the girl.”

“It
is
amazing isn’t it?” Leclerc asked rhetorically. “Every one of them is paranoid of their own shadow. Now is the time to move into Phase Three and really turn up the pressure on their society.”

“I believe the PM is willing to move into that phase of the Protocol,” the general stated.

“So, it’s agreed then?” Gavin asked. “Paige will cease Phase Two, take a few days of rest and then begin Phase Three when she’s recovered.”

“Yes. I’ll have my agents move to the first city on the list to set up the equipment. It will be in place by the time she is ready,” the French-Canadian agent stated.

“Commissioner, if I may,” Brigadier Patel held up his hand on the video screen.

“What is it?”

“The PM has expressed an interest in a few targeted attacks before we completely close out Phase Two.”

Gavin squinted his eyes and stared hard at the man on the screen. “What do you mean ‘targeted attacks’?”

“We’ve kept a very wide buffer between our border and the attacks. He would like to go just a little further north into the D.C. area and disrupt a few of the agencies there so they will be completely thrown off until it’s too late.”

“This isn’t part of our plan!” Gavin stated angrily.

Paige finally stepped in and said, “Once I set an animal on its course, there is the potential that it will continue killing after the weeklong period that my imprint typically lasts. It’s very important that we keep them operating well away from our borders so they don’t stray into Canada and begin murdering our citizens.”

“We know that, Miss Watkins,” the general replied. “However, the PM feels that it’s worth the risk. D.C. is still very far away from Canada and in the unlikely event that the animal continued, there’s a lot of country between us.”

The telepath brought up a picture of the United States from her childhood. D.C.
was
a long way from the Canadian border. The Americans were paranoid of every shadow in the southern half of their country, but the northerners simply watched in concern for their southern brothers. If they were also worried about the crazed animals showing up there, it could help Phase Three be more successful.

“Where is the nearest amplifier to Washington,” she asked.

“I believe the closest one would be in Norfolk, Virginia,” Leclerc replied.

“How far from Washington is that?”

“It’s about 150 miles. That’s too far for a targeted attack, but I can have my men move it to northern Virginia and then you could move the creatures in from there.”

"The amplifier has a range of sixty-three miles, so it better be close," Brigadier Patel stated.

"We'll get it where it needs to be, Monsieur."

"Who are these targets that the prime minister feels are important enough to jeopardize the Protocol's mission objectives?" Commissioner Dartmouth asked.

"The Directors of both the CIA and the FBI," Patel sneered. “The organizations are too close to the investigation. The FBI has been heavily involved in the case stateside and the Agency has its feelers everywhere. If we cut off their heads, it will give us the breathing room we need for a few days. We've invested too much and gone too far down this path to risk discovery. If we’re found out now, it would mean certain war—one that we can’t hope to win at the moment."

"Don't you think the Americans' focus would shift from a natural event to believing that it’s an attack if both men were killed at the same time?" Gavin asked in disbelief.

"Surely their deaths could be made to look like accidents."

Paige considered it for a moment and then replied, "I know exactly what I want to do. Have the amplifier in place by 8 a.m. and men observing both directors who can call you with descriptions of their vehicles."

"I have several trusted men there already," Leclerc said proudly. "Just say the word and they're ready to transmit securely."

"Good. I propose that we adjourn,” the commissioner recommended with a sigh. “Tomorrow, Paige will carry out the final stage of Phase Two with the PM's latest additions. Then she'll take a few days off to rest her abilities. You'll know that Phase Three has started by the clamor on the nightly news."

The CSIS agent waved in the monitor and said, "Adieu, mes amis." His image disappeared and the general's face filled the screen.

"What do you need from me?" he asked.

"I believe we are good, brigadier. We'll be in contact," Gavin replied and pressed the end button on the camera's remote.

"That went well," Paige murmured.

"I'm worried about you. Don't take this the wrong way, but you look horrible."

Paige choked out a laugh behind unbidden tears, "Don't know how else I'm supposed to take that."

"It means that maybe we need to slow down," he stated. "You've never tested your abilities anywhere near this level. Your body looks like it's rebelling against you even further."

"I'm fine, Gavin. We'll get through this and then take a break."

The Mountie tapped a pen on the pad of paper in front of him. Finally, he sighed and dropped the pen heavily. "Why do you hate the Americans so much that you’ve allowed yourself to get saddled with that madman Patel?"

She stared off at the shaded windows of the conference room. Gavin thought that she'd not heard his question and started to ask again when her voice echoed through the room. "I bounced around the foster system for my entire life until I reached thirteen and ran away for good.”

“I know that, dear.”

“Do you know that adoption agencies don't care one bit about the children in their system? Out of the eight 'families' that I lived with, I was sexually abused in three of them and physically abused in five homes—that’s when I vowed to never let a man touch me again. I complained to everyone, but no one wanted to step in since Americans value privacy above all else. I knew that if the police found me, they’d return me to the system, so I fled across the border into Quebec as soon as I could. A few weeks later I’d made my way over to Ottawa where we met."

Gavin started to speak, but she cut him off with a warning, "Don't. My real parents didn't care enough about me to keep me. I found my birth mother years ago, once my abilities had progressed far enough that I could read people's thoughts. I went to her home in New York. Did you know that I was a twin? No? I haven't ever told anyone that; I found out when I spoke to her. The woman who gave birth to me hated my twin sister and me for what we'd done to her body. She'd been a dancer, but couldn't work after that because of the stretch marks and skin discolorations. She blamed us and even had so much hatred in her that when I confronted her about it, she confessed that she should have aborted us.
That
is why I hate Americans even more so than the unregulated foster system. They are so self-centered and concerned only about themselves that they'd rather abort their unborn children than hurt their appearance. I caused her to have a massive aneurism and watched her die at the kitchen table. Until tomorrow’s ‘targeted attack’ she was the only person that I’ve killed directly."

"Hmm," Gavin grunted. Internally, he wondered how damaged Paige's psyche was. Obviously she'd had some bad examples in her life, but to blame an entire population on the actions of a few was a truly twisted outlook. It did, however, serve his purposes that she was willing to kill them indiscriminately.

"What about your real father, have you tried to find him?" the commissioner asked.

"He's dead. I learned from that whore that he'd been killed in one of the wars that the Americans started. She didn't even know which one it was."

"Americans," he said in disgust.

"Americans," she agreed.

"What about your twin sister?"

"I found her too. She was raised by a nice, loving family in Washington, D.C. For some reason I can’t see her thoughts, but I can always determine where she is and I can watch her. Her experiences have been the exact opposite of mine on every account."

"I'm glad that she found peace," he stated.

"I hate her for it. What did I do to deserve such a horrible life while she lived in the lap of luxury?"

“I… Uh… I don’t know,” he stammered. There was something really off about this girl and he decided that he’d better watch himself and his thoughts more closely than he’d done previously when he was around her.

*****

The next morning came too early for Paige. She wasn’t sure why she picked eight instead of nine or ten. It was the first thing that popped in her head and she’d learned long ago to listen to what her mind subconsciously told her. After getting cleaned up and taking a light meal in the building’s cantina with Lillian, she made her way down to the subbasement where the Neuroactuator was housed.

The machine allowed her to project her telepathic abilities beyond her normal range. Usually, she needed line of sight to someone in order to manipulate their mind, but the Neuroactuator enhanced her reach worldwide as long as there was a string of amplifiers to carry her brainwaves to the target.

That’s where Leclerc’s men became the lynchpin in the entire plan. They were the only ones who knew where each of the amplifiers was hidden in the United States. Paige knew that he purposefully kept the locations a secret in order to remain relevant in the operation and the prime minister allowed him to do it. She knew because she’d picked up the projection from his mind. She may have agreed to never purposefully scan the thoughts of the Protocol members, but there were some thoughts and emotions that seemed to force their way out of humans and there was no way to stop her mind from intercepting those errant thoughts.

The Neuroactuator allowed her to project her thoughts in multiple ways. The first, which had been demonstrated in Phase One was to simply convert her thoughts and instructions into a non-traceable sound overlay that would slowly build on the target audience’s psyche until a point of her choosing. Then all that was needed was for her to send a message through the machine and amplifier network to carry out the instructions that they’d received. This type of short term hypnosis rarely lasted longer than two or three hours, which had been plenty of time to carry out the attack at the club in the nation’s capitol city.

The second way that the machine allowed her to interact with her subjects was to create a “blanket” disbursement of her directives in an area surrounded by the amplifiers. Everything within that area is subjected to her message. That’s why the Americans couldn’t really get an idea of what was going on. There were several large pockets of animal attacks that were geographically isolated from one another, but still close enough that they couldn’t rule out a communicable disease. Most of the phases in the Collective Protocol were designed to occur with this type of method.

The final way that the machine allowed her to project her thoughts was the direct attack. She could invade someone’s mind from a distance and cause them to do whatever she wanted them to do. This was how she learned to use her abilities, as a teenager, without the assistance of the Neuroactuator, so she was the most comfortable with directly controlling a person to do her bidding.

Paige greeted the laboratory technicians who were at work in the facility. Just like her, they lived and worked here on the Canadian government’s funding. All had undergone years of screening processes, training for the mission and psychological evaluations in preparation for the Collective Protocol. They knew what they were getting into and went out of their way to topple the American society.

“Good morning, Ms. Watkins. Are you ready?” Lillian asked. She was the lead technician for the team who supported her in the lab. Even though they were in a relationship and lived together in Paige’s apartment, Lillian was the picture of professionalism when they worked together. Everything and everyone in the building worked to support the Collective Protocol; without Paige’s abilities there would be no Protocol and she felt that without the lead technician’s love and support, she’d be less successful in this endeavor.